Flawless
by LilyIsAwesomerThanYou
Summary: She was flawless. He was flawed. Draco Malfoy finds himself in love with Hermione Granger, but believes he has no chance. Maybe - just maybe - he's wrong.
1. 1994

_**Written For:**_

_**.alohamora080's The "One Day" Competition - December 22, Draco/Hermione**_

* * *

1994

It was not the first time he had met her, but it was certainly the first time he had noticed her. Her pale lavender dress was all-too-Muggle and yet just magical enough that he found it endearing. Her normally bushy hair was smoothed back into tame curls pinned at the nape of her neck, tendrils falling and framing her face.

She was flawless, and he couldn't look away.

He could feel the rage building in him as he watched her run out of the ball crying. His pale hands balled into fists at his side, it took everything he had not to chase after her and hex Weasley into oblivion.

But not her. Not her. She was Hermione Granger and he was Draco Malfoy.

She was flawless, and it could never happen.


	2. 1996

1996

Forgetting was never an option, but distraction seemed a kind enough offer. And with the pressure of the Dark Lord in every thought that pulsed through his mind, there was more than enough distraction.

But then, of course, Slughorn's party had come around. That damn, damn Christmas party.

He wasn't even supposed to be there, not really. Filch had caught him "eavesdropping," but that was far from what he was there to accomplish. It was really more of an overall let's-make-sure-no-one-catches-me type of thing, not an I'll-go-gatecrash-this-stupid-Christmas-gala. But of course, he had been caught. Foolish, foolish. What had the Malfoy family come to? To hiding in broom cupboards and behind tapestries? To being pulled by the ear by Filch as he was led to a very infuriated Professor Snape?

But _she_ was there. He hadn't gotten much of a glimpse of her, just a few flashes of bushy hair. He had seen plenty of Potter, though. Was she his date?

She wasn't.

_McLaggen?_ Of all people. Of course, he would later knock out Potter, his own Quidditch captain, with a Bludger, so Draco couldn't say he had too much against the boy anymore. But _still_. He was just foul. _Repulsive._

She was crying that night. He found her in a deserted classroom, accompanied only by a small flock of golden birds that chirped and flew around her head.

"Harry, I thought I told you –" She cast a careless glance back toward him, then froze, quickly whipping around to bury her tear-stained face in her arms, which had been balanced firmly on her knees. "Malfoy," she greeted quietly, sniffling slightly. "I – I'm really not in the mood to deal with you." Her voice was honest and quiet, begging him to leave her alone.

He moved forward, taking a seat beside her on the cold stone floor.

"How was your date tonight?" he questioned flatly, but the amusement sparkled in his grey eyes. She refused to lift her head to look at him.

"That's none of your business, Malfoy. Please leave," she snapped, looking at the flagstones beneath her modestly crossed legs.

He stood and turned to go. His dark, polished boots echoed in the empty classroom. Just as he reached the doorway, however, he paused, looking back toward her.

"Why McLaggen, Granger?" His voice betrayed his curiosity.

There was a long moment of silence, broken only by the occasional sniffle, before she replied.

"I thought he would make Ron the most jealous."

Feeling as if he had been kicked in the stomach, Draco numbly excused himself from the room. Once in the corridor, he began running – running as fast as he possibly could. He finally reached the Room of Requirement and stormed in, his breathing labored and his lungs ready to burst.

He had no chance. No chance at all.

She was flawless, and she was in love with her best friend.


	3. 1997

**Okayyyy so I know that this whole scene actually happened during the Easter holidays, but I wanted to fit it into the story so I did. K?**

* * *

1997

He had never, in all his life, expected Harry Potter to come through that door. In fact, he hadn't even walked – he had been _dragged_ through the front door of Malfoy Manor with Weasley and _her_. And the utter fear on her face had shocked him into silence.

Oh, he was wrong. He was so, so wrong, loathe as he was to admit it. Becoming a Death Eater was the worst decision he had ever made. How could he have been so stupid? Potter was their last chance – their only hope.

And so when his father asked if it was him – if it was Potter – he did not tell the truth. Oh, he did not outright lie. Seventeen years' worth of beatings had created habits and rules that were engrained in his very being, and even now he could not break them.

"I don't know."

It was close enough. It was an avoidance.

But then it happened. This was the real test.

_Could you sit there and watch the one you love be tortured? Could you bear her screams? Could you be oblivious to her cries?_

Potter and Weasley had been locked in the cellar, but he had no reason to care for them. They needed only to escape. They needed only to defeat the Dark Lord.

But Hermione – oh, his sweet, sweet Hermione. Well, _Auntie Bella_ had some other plans for her. For the "filthy little Mudblood."

He heard her screams echoing through his head, the agony in her voice grating on his mind, stretching his nerves to the breaking point. He was so tempted to jump in and _tear Bellatrix to pieces_ for hurting her. And yet he didn't. He had just enough willpower, just enough self-control. He may be in love but he was still a Malfoy.

So when he was ordered to go take care of the rest of the men, he was nearly relieved. Because anything, _anything_, was better than hearing her being tormented.

But then, of course, Potter had escaped. Merlin knows how he did it, but he escaped.

His father was thrown into the wall – not that he really cared. But the Trio – Potter, Weasley, and Hermione – escaped.

The impromptu meeting with the Dark Lord following _that_ particular encounter was not a fun one, by any means, but it was worth it. _She_ was okay. But now she knew.

She was flawless, and he was a Death Eater.


	4. 1999

1999

"Merry Christmas, Malfoy," came a charming voice from behind him. He stiffened in surprise and turned, relaxing slightly when he saw who it was – _her._

He bit back an automatic sharp retort. "Granger. Merry Christmas."

Her smile blinded him.

It had been a year and a half since the Final Battle, since the end of the war. They had both finished their seventh year. It had been hard, though – harder than he ever would have imagined. There had been so many losses, and though the school had been expertly restored, the battle lived on in the students' memories.

He had, to the best of his ability, tried to ignore the whispers that had followed him in the hallway. He knew full well that they would probably never go away – that they would most likely plague him for the rest of his life.

"Well, if you're not dreadfully busy, perhaps we could keep each other sane for the duration of this damn ball," he ventured, gesturing toward two open seats. She regarded him warily – he mentally kicked himself for how he had acted toward her in the past – but agreed. He led the way, pulling out her chair for her.

"You're supposed to push it in for me, you fool," she hissed when he turned to seat himself. He turned back abruptly, taking in her nervous expression – probably in apprehension for his reaction – before pushing her chair in with a sheepish smirk. He was not ashamed to say he had lost some of his arrogance in the past years.

"I don't do dates," he confided, and was rewarded with a real smile from the brunette. He found his lips turning up in response and quickly looked down at the table as he took the seat beside hers.

Uncomfortable silence filled the air between them for several moments. He watched her from the corner of his eye as she diverted her eyes around the room, drummed her fingers on the table, absently played with the curls that had escaped from the bun and framed her face. But Malfoys did _not_ fiddle. And so he sat perfectly still, pretending to stare straight ahead, and yet hyper-aware of her every move.

She let loose a soft sigh. With a swiftness that surprised even him, he turned towards her. Her amber eyes met his grey ones, startled and – true to her character – curious. He noticed for the first time how enticingly beautiful they were. He sucked in a deep breath.

"Granger." His voice came out harsher than intended in his nervousness. She didn't even seem to notice.

"Call me Hermione." She kept her eyes locked on his, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Hermione," he breathed, the name falling from his lips like the sweetest, most unattainable honey. She waited. "Would you – would you like to go to dinner with me?"

She arched one perfect eyebrow in surprise. His breath hitched and he quickly looked away, waiting for words of rejection to fall on his ears. A small, warm hand grasped his chin, pulling his face back around to hers. Her eyes sparkled.

"That would be. . . wonderful," she finished, smiling. He was dumbstruck.

"Tomorrow at seven?" he asked, a small grin spreading across his face in his barely-contained happiness. She acquiesced happily and leaned her head on his shoulder. He stiffened in surprise and she straightened in embarrassment, smoothing out her gold dress and stammering out her apologies. He hesitantly reached out and place one pale hand on her bare shoulder. She jumped and hid her face more.

"Hermione," he drawled, reveling in the feeling of her name crossing his lips for the second time that night. His voice was warm, silently encouraging her to look at him. "I don't mind." He secretly hoped she would do it again. She did, looking up at his sharp-featured face and biting her lower lip. Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. He tentatively smiled and wrapped his arm around her. She moved a bit closer to him, and he smiled, continuing their conversation. Merlin, why had he waited this long?

She was flawless, and he had a date on Saturday night.

She was flawless, and he was holding her to his side.

He'd be damned if he ever let her go again.


	5. 2000

2000

"Hermione!" No answer floated back down the grand marble staircase of Malfoy Manor. "Merlin's pants, Hermione! Are you almost ready? We're going to miss our reservation!"

And then she did, in fact, come around the corner and begin her slow descent down the polished white steps. His words caught in his mouth as the beauty of the gleaming, expensive marble paled in comparison to the woman trying her damnedest not to trip in her heels.

His breath came out in a whoosh. Her beautiful brown hair hung in ringlets around her face; a few strands had fallen across her face in her concentration, and as she reached the bottom of the steps, he reached a pale hand up to brush them away. She bit her glossy lip, a light blush creeping up her cheeks. Her eyes sparkled.

"You are stunning," he whispered in her ear, and she reached up to twist one hand in his platinum hair and drew his face to hers, tenderly kissing his cheek. He drew back briefly before covering her soft lips with his own.

"What was that about a reservation?" she mumbled against his lips, and he smiled and pulled back, leading her to the door before Apparating them both away.

They appeared in a dark alley, and she shivered. He shrugged off his coat quickly, wrapping it around her firmly before walking out of the alley with her. A light dusting of snow decorated the sidewalk on either side of the street and they walked briskly, fighting off the December chill.

He ducked into a restaurant, pulling her through the door with him as he rubbed his hands together to thaw out his fingers.

"Malfoy," he muttered to the woman at the front, and she gave him a brief appraising look before leading him toward a table in the back. She left two menus on the table and quickly left them alone. He smiled briefly and pulled out the chair for her, by now well accustomed to pushing it in after. She graced him with a beautiful smile and he took his own seat, stuffing his hand in his pocket to nervously trace the contours of the little black box currently resting against his leg like a rock.

"A Muggle restaurant, Draco? I'm surprised." When his only response was a smile, she continued. "Won't you tell me where we are?" He shook his head with a suppressed grin, and she looked down at her menu for clues. It was very American. "America?" He shook his head again.

"Not quite," he replied in a low voice, perusing his own menu and settling on a traditional steak as the waitress introduced herself. Hermione ordered as well, then begged him for a hint. "We're still in Europe, love."

She pouted playfully, but ate her dinner happily. He held her hand under the table, his other hand returning to the box when he finished.

_What if she says no?_

_ She won't._

_ She should. Look at me. A former Death Eater and a coward._

_ Merlin's beard, I'm losing it._

They shared a slice of cheesecake – her favorite – and left, strolling down the street hand-in-hand.

"Are you ready to know where we are?" he whispered in her ear. When she nodded and turned toward him for an answer, he swiftly conjured a blindfold and wrapped it loosely around her eyes, leading her. She protested briefly, falling silent when he breathed, "Trust me."

He led her to the base of it and stopped, falling to one knee. He pulled the box out of his pocket, his fingers fumbling in nervousness as he opened it. He nearly dropped the ring, but managed to steady himself, holding it in front of him.

"You can remove the blindfold now," he instructed, and when she did, "Look up."

The glittering lights of Paris surrounded her as she gazed up at the brightly-lit Eiffel Tower.

"Paris!" she squealed, moving to grab him, hug him, kiss him – anything to convey her excitement and gratitude at being brought to the place she had most wanted to visit since she was a girl. To her surprise, he wasn't within reach.

"Now look down." He swallowed hard as her eyes flashed downward, and her amber eyes widened in surprise. One hand covered her mouth in shock as he began to speak. "Hermione Jean Granger, I know I haven't always been the best man to you. I was young and stupid, and I have enough intelligence to at least realize that. This past year has been the best of my life, and I want you to be more than my girlfriend – I want to take you as my wife. I love you more than life itself, and if you'll have me, I want to spend every day of forever with you. Will you marry me?"

Tears began to drip down her cheeks, and he jumped to his feet in alarm, reaching out to wipe them away. He cursed loudly.

"Hermione, no. I'm sorry." He snapped the box closed and stuffed it back in his pocket. "Merlin, that was foolish of me." He bit his lip as he turned away, smacking himself in the forehead and mentally berating himself.

She grabbed his shoulders firmly, turning him back towards her and pushing him back down to the ground, kneeling with him at the foot of the Eiffel Tower. She took his hands.

"You fool," she laughed, looking into his somber grey eyes. "Get that ring back out. How are you supposed to get it on my finger when it's in your pocket?" There was a playful twinkle in her eyes, and he quickly pulled it back out, flipping it open.

"Is that a yes, Miss Granger?" he grinned, removing the beautiful diamond-encrusted ring from the box.

"It's always been a yes, Draco," she whispered, kissing him deeply as he slipped the ring onto her finger.

He Apparated her to her flat later that night, pulling her close to him as she opened the door.

"Have a nice night, future Mrs. Malfoy," he whispered, kissing her nose gently. "You are my life now."

She was flawless, and he was going to marry her.


	6. 2001

2001

He stood at the altar, trying to keep his hands from shaking, his knees from giving out from under him. He looked nervously out across the beautifully-manicured yard of Malfoy Manor; rows of chairs had been arranged to form an aisle decorated with rose petals and garlands.

He was ready for this – well, not for _this _– in fact, he was nervous beyond belief, but he was most definitely ready to take this step with Hermione. She was his everything – his very reason for breathing. As if to accentuate his point, he breathed in deeply, his nose taking in the smell of the white roses that overflowed the yard.

Purity. White roses symbolized purity and innocence. Everything she was. Everything he was not. Of course, none of them were really innocent anymore after the war, but she was as close as one could get. And he still marveled how a tainted soul such as his had ended up with someone so flawless.

And love as strong as death.

He turned slightly to his left, where the groomsmen stood. Potter gave him a sort of reassuring smile, and he twisted his lips into a smirk, wondering why in hell he had ever decided to make Potter a groomsman to begin with. Blaise clapped a firm, encouraging hand on his shoulder, gesturing to Lucius, who nodded his unwavering approval. He felt a bit more confident at his father's reassurance.

The wedding march began to announce the arrival of the bride, and he clasped his hands together behind his back as she came around the corner.

She took his breath away, and with it, all of his nervousness. Why had he been scared for this? He had her by his side. They were taking on the world together. Nothing could separate them.

He couldn't remember her ever looking more perfect.

The ceremony rushed by, and before he knew it, it was time to say his vows. He pulled out a worn, creased piece of parchment from his pocket and unfolded it, glancing down to review what he was going to say.

"Oh, Hermione. I met you on the train to Hogwarts just over ten years ago, and I'm ashamed to say I never did treat you as I should have. Different houses, different personalities, but I will say that you always beat me in marks, regardless of how hard I tried." He shot a glance toward his father, then looked up to meet Hermione's eyes before continuing.

"The majority of the events in my life are things that I have deserved, and I am well used to receiving what is due to me. I deserved to be punched in the face third year, I deserved to be cursed and broken sixth year, and I deserved the life I received as a so-called Death Eater during our seventh. I've lived a life of wrong-doing from the time I was very young, and so I stand here looking back on my life, and I begin to wonder what I did right, because nothing I have ever done warrants the beautiful young woman standing before me.

"I don't pretend that you have no annoying tendencies, but I promise, from this day forward, to laugh rather than complain when you let the tea brew longer than it should, when you ransack my library in search of a good book that you haven't yet read, when you send the house elf off to take a nap and make dinner yourself, when you complain about my household spellwork, when you install little Muggle inventions around the house, and when you insist on doing way too much by hand. In fact, I am willing to accept all of this and more both now and forever, and I never intend for you to leave my side.

"I love you with all that I am, Hermione, and because I am both unwilling to spend a day without you and eager to take each new day together, I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, promise to be the best husband I can be. I promise to be strong when you are weak, and to protect you at any cost. To put you above myself, and provide for all your needs and even your wants. To hold you close during the good times, and closer during the bad. To laugh at what is worth laughing at, and to be a shoulder to cry on when smiles seem too difficult to manage. To show you the beautiful side of life, because it will always shine through the ugly. And to, no matter the cost, stay by your side until the day I die. You are my life, Hermione, and now you are my wife. You are my best friend, and the one person I could never live without. I love you more than life itself, and I will forevermore. I couldn't imagine a better person to spend forever with." He refolded the parchment and slipped it back into his pocket, trying to swallow the hard lump of emotion that had suddenly appeared in his throat.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, when I met you on the train that first day, I thought I knew you as well as I ever needed to. I pride myself in being right often, and yet I had never been so wrong in my life. See, there's this deeper side to you – this side that actually _feels_ emotion –" (she grinned) "and when that comes out, it doesn't matter what you've done in the past, because you are the most perfect human being on this earth. I've found you as you really are, and I'm so glad I did. I don't think I could stand living life without you, because I've decided you're the perfect person for me. You complete me, Draco, and so I'm more than willing to take this step with you. I want to be your wife. I want to be Mrs. Draco Malfoy.

"I, Hermione Jean Granger, love you, Draco Lucius Malfoy, more than I ever imagined I could, and I promise to love you forever. I promise to provide support when support is needed. To soothe every nightmare you ever have without getting exasperated. To hold you late into the night and watch the sunrise with you in the morning if you so wish. To forgive you for everything that you have done or ever will do. And to stay by your side through sickness and in health, until the end of time itself. I'm ready to start my life with you, Draco. You're the most important person in my life, and nothing – no person, no job, no emotion, no amount of time – can ever take that away. I love you with everything I am and all that I have."

And then those beautiful, beautiful words came. "I now pronounce you man and wife." And of course, "You may now kiss the bride."

And he had kissed her. Oh, Merlin, had he kissed her.

She was flawless, and she was his wife – Mrs. Draco Malfoy.

Hermione Malfoy. Nothing had ever sounded so right in his life.


	7. 2004

2004

The sound of a baby screaming penetrated his sleep. He groaned and threw the pillow over his face for the third time that night.

"Your turn, Draco," Hermione murmured from next to him in the bed as she turned over.

"It sure as hell is not my turn," he grumbled. "You get him."

And yet he pulled back the blankets and stumbled out of bed, pushing platinum hair out of his face and rubbing his eyes in exhaustion, day-old stubble lightly scratching his wrists and forearms. The nursery was just across the hall, and he slumped over the edge of the crib, drawing the screaming baby up into his arms and trying to pat its back soothingly.

"Perseus," he whispered in the baby's ear. "It's all right, it's all right, Daddy's here." He began to pace as the baby screamed all the louder. "Merlin's beard. What do I do?" He raised his voice to reach his wife. "'Mione! In the name of all that's holy, come help me! He won't be quiet!"

After a few moments, she stumbled into the room. He immediately handed the wailing child to her; the baby quieted immediately.

"Oh, heaven forbid he do that for me!" he cried, exasperated, as he ran a hand through his hair to brush away the strands that had fallen back into his eyes. "I swear he doesn't like me! Wonderful father I'm going to be!" He collapsed into the rocking chair, which squeaked loudly in protest. "Wonderful father I already am."

Hermione, who had let loose an amused snort at him, quickly sobered up at his last words. "You're a wonderful father, Draco."

He made a sound that might have passed for acceptance. "We named him after Perseus, 'Mione. He's supposed to be a bloody hero, for goodness' sake! A hero that can't even sleep through the night!"

"Oh, I highly doubt the real Perseus slept through the night, Mr. Malfoy," she growled, half irritated. "In fact, I highly doubt _you_ slept through the night."

"I never claimed to be a hero, Mrs. Malfoy."

"True, but you're mine."

He dropped a kiss on his wife's forehead before leaning down to do the same to his son, who had already fallen asleep.

She was flawless, and he had a son.

He didn't deserve any of it, and yet he wasn't going to complain. Life was life. It went too fast and sometimes it hurt too much, and if you blinked, you'd miss it.

He wasn't willing to miss this.


End file.
